such a pretty boy
by sheriff stilinski
Summary: "What have you done to yourself?" BeckTori


title: such a pretty boy

summary: she strokes his hollow cheek, "what have you done to yourself?" / in which beck is an escort.

author's note: roarziez. I feel so horrible for being so crueeeel to beck. I don't know if I like this but.

inspiration: fluorescent adolescent by the arctic monkeys\

story one of the occupation challenge that i've created for myself... lawls i'm such a creep. any other occupation suggestions fo me? i'm writing five different stories focused on a certain occupation.

/

sometimes when he looks into the mirror, he just sees the same person from high school. easy going beck.

he doesn't know why he bothers anymore. he has nothing but a pretty face that people like to look at.

"don't you know that people would kill to look like you?"

oh, but did you know that he would kill himself, because he looks like himself?

/

he drops out of college because he loves the way the powder feels when it travels up his nose – or maybe it's the way the syringe feels in his arm.

he worries constantly about his figure, and he's a little scared when the scale tells him he's gained five pounds. he runs all the time, liking the way the air feels against his ears and the how weight seems to _drop_ off of him.

he never tells anyone though, because boys are never anorexic and that's all he knows.

/

he's the popular choice on the street because he never sleeps and boys and girls love the way his hair falls into his eyes.

men kiss him gruffly, his stubbly chin scratching against their stubble and it feels so wrong that he likes the way they moan against him. lots of guys like when he fucks them, because he's so pretty when he's demanding. but sometimes, he finds himself being fucked against multiple things, a man's kitchen table, the concrete outside a shady diner, the backseat of a car. he likes the way they dip inside him and stay until he's fucked senseless and.

when girls touch him, it's all different. most of his female clients like to be touched slowly and thoughtfully, because they just want to be loved, really. he's such a pretty boy, and they like the way he is all theirs – if only for a night. but sometimes, the women are crueler than the men he gets and they like to play with toys and he's losing himself for the money he makes.

he doesn't really know if he likes the men or the women but he doesn't even know how his body reacts anymore. the days are all the same.

/

he befriends the women he works with and they sometimes want to fuck him after hours. he sees how much makeup they wear though and it's almost exactly like jad-

no. he cannot go back because if he does then maybe he will never return to where he's gotten himself. fucking people for the safety of his addictions.

/

he hears a girl call his name after he's gotten out of a black limo, and he is so tired – his legs are weak and his lips are chapped. he's gained two fucking pounds and he hasn't been able to reach his high. he turns around and finds himself staring directly at tori vega.

she's beautiful and pregnant and he can't breathe.

she strokes his hollow cheek, "what have you done to yourself?"

he stares into the sky, "i am a slave to my addictions."

he faints in tori vega's arms. he finds it especially ironic.

/

he wakes up to a white hospital bed. his skin looks milky white and bruised. he wonders when he let himself go to waste. his stomach dips in and he doesn't feel pretty and he's a little lost.

her voice travels to the bed, "the baby. it was a mistake. the simple mistake of the condom slipping and the father leaving because he's an asshole."

he nods, "i missed you, tori."

she comes over and he scoots over, and they lie side to side together.

"i always loved you, beck. always did. always will."

"i know," he says, "you deserve better."

she lies on her side and whispers in his ear, "i'll never get anyone better then you."

he shuts his eyes.

/

when he wakes up, he notices the bright hair. it's deep and red and it makes him lose his breath. he misses the needle handling his thoughts for him.

"beck," cat whispers.

her voice is the sound of sadness, and beck can't handle it. he doesn't speak until she leaves.

while tori strokes his hair, he croaks, "too much."

she traces a bruise on his arm, "i'm sorry."

he cries into her shirt as she traces hearts on his back.

/

he looks in the mirror to find a hollowed out version of himself.

beck oliver is not a pretty boy – not anymore.

"i hate myself," he says to the mirror.

well it's your fault, so.

/

"how does it feel?"

he looks at her tired eyes and her stomach, and he says, "it used to feel like home."

her eyes widen, "how does it feel now?"

he looks at the ceiling, "it tastes like tears. it doesn't feel good, it just feels stuck."

/

he is released from the hospital with a fuckload of fines and bills and orange cylinders with complicated names on them and she lets him stay at her house.

he looks at her, "i'm dying, aren't i?"

she opens the door and lets him in, "yeah. you are."

she cries in his arms.

/

his dreams scare him the most.

when he wakes up screaming, he sees she's creeped into his bed.

her stomach is ballooning to the side and when he wraps his arms around her, she fits.

/

one day, he's shaving his face when his fingers start to shake. he cuts his chin.

he doesn't tell her what happened.

she can guess though.

/

she wakes up to an empty bed.

under the covers, she feels a note.

_i am a slave to my addictions._

she cries.

/

they find his body a month later. his cheeks are hollow and his eyes are sunken in. his skin has lost all of it's exotic color.

she strokes his hollow cheek, "what have you done to yourself?"

/

"beck," she whispers.

the baby coos.

/


End file.
